A Warrior No More
by KeiraQuickshaft
Summary: Unseasonably cold (even for winter!) weather, a huge horde moving toward Redwall, a Midwinter feast... Seems like the typical Redwall fic. It\'s not, I can assure you. Rated PG for the usual Redwallish battles. Chapter Three added 11/3
1. Ooh... The very first chapter...

Disclaimer: 

Disclaimer:   
Redwall is (c) Brian Jacques, of course. Like I could even consider   
claiming it as my own. Of course not. I would never dream of such a   
thing. Everything else is mine, unless by some absurd coincidence   
someone created a character or whatever else that exactly mirrored one   
of my own. But I doubt that would happen. It could, though... 

~@~ 

A/ N: This story is loosely based on a plot my friends and I were   
discussing quite a while ago. It takes place between The Long Patrol   
and Marlfox, when Arven is Abbot. It may offend a few really hardcore   
Redwall fans, because of its… strangeness… Anyway, this is my first   
orthodox (or so it seems) Redwall fic. Enjoy! 

~@~ 

A Warrior No More, Chapter 1~ 

It was a dark and stormy night in Mossflower. Every creature in the   
Abbey of Redwall, and many more besides, were huddled together in Cavern   
Hole. The luckiest ones sat closest to the dying fire, soaking up its   
warmth like so many ripe fruits on a lazy summer day.   
That evening, everybeast from the great Western Mountains to the far   
shore of the Big Inland Lake had appeared at the Abbey gates, begging   
for a night's shelter. Father Abbot Arven had graciously accepted them,   
pointing them in the direction of Cavern Hole. Soon, the   
semi-underground hall was literally packed to the rafters, a fact   
advertised by the multitude of squirrels perched over the heads of the   
other refugees.   
Abbot Arven stood in the front of the room, and all fell silent as he   
addressed them.   
"Brothers, Sisters, and friends, I have grave news. It seems there is   
trouble afoot in Mossflower, and it is highly unfortunate that it should   
choose this unnaturally cold season to appear.   
"You all noticed the early start of winter and the sudden snows.   
However, this night has been the worst yet. Coldness as has never been   
known sweeps the land, blown here by the North Wind. Perhaps it is from   
the Northlands that all our troubles come, for I have heard reports of a   
great horde of vermin pillaging the barren wasteland country to the   
north, and even the farthest fringes of Mossflower Wood. If they   
continue south, they will be here before spring."   
A few gasps and moans were heard from various corners of the room, but   
were stifled as Arven continued, "As if this threat to our peaceful   
existence were not enough, my informants have told me that this army is   
led by none other than the warlord Baron Itharos himself!"   
This time, strangled cries were heard emanating from the mouth of every   
beast old enough to understand what this meant. if it was true that   
Itharos was coming for them, they were already as good as dead. The   
Baron's army was made up of everything from searats and corsairs to   
mercenaries to poisoners and anybeast else who could lift a weapon to   
follow him in his quest to conquer the Northlands. They indeed followed   
him, a great horde of vermin marching in his wake as he pillaged the   
land, leaving nothing behind but ashes, corpses, and broken weapons.   
An old mouse sitting on a rock ledge gave a stricken moan and   
collapsed, but none of the other creatures, imagining their fate at the   
claws of the infamous Itharos, took any notice. Finally a mole, who had   
seen the old one fall, scrambled clumsily up to the small, moss-covered   
precipice and helped him to his feet.   
"Doan't ee wurry, zurr, Oi've got ee, ho urr," the small creature   
assured as he guided the mouse towards the narrow, steep staircase that   
curved around behind the great hearth of Cavern Hole.   
The mouse shuddered violently for no more than a second, then sat   
down. "Thank you for your help, kind mole, but I will stay here. I am   
perfectly comfortable where I am."   
The young mole shrugged his velvety black shoulders and trundled off   
down the stairs, leaving the old one alone, huddled in a thin wool   
blanket, on a rocky ledge overlooking the masses of creatures packed   
into the underground hall. 

~@~ 

Panic ran rampant not only in Redwall Abbey that night.   
In the far northern reaches of Mossflower, another town had fallen to   
the clutches of Itharos and his vast army. Tents, ranging from richly   
adorned silken officers' tents to scraps of hide stitched roughly   
together and thrown over a wooden frame, radiated out from the town   
square, a simple plot of land with nothing on it but grass, a   
now-decapitated statue of some forgotten hero, and the tent of Itharos   
himself.   
In another tent, a sturdy canvas shelter pitched on the burnt ruins of   
what was once some successful merchant's stately mansion, nine pitiful   
soldiers lounged about, while one scurried around, attempting to prepare   
for inspection.   
"Sharpsnout! Oneglim! Clean up those dice and seashells! You know   
how much trouble you'll get in if the Boss catches you gambling!"   
The speaker, a lean, sinewy rat, was the Spokesbeast for his tent. His   
duty of being responsible for the other nine soldiers in his "domain"   
led to his constant snappishness, a fact aggravated by their obvious   
lack of concern for tidiness.   
"Aw, give it a rest, Brownlug. We ain't gonna get in no trouble fer a   
liddle mess."   
"I don't care!" screamed Spokesbeast Brownlug, "I want this tent   
cleaned by the time the inspector comes!"   
"'Ey look, Luggie! There's a speck o' dust by me paw! Best gimme yer   
duster so I ken dust it up 'afore it eats me!" a fat weasel roared,   
grabbing Brownlug's feather duster in his massive paw.   
The lazy vermin guffawed loudly as the overworked rat snatched back his   
beloved feathered friend and straightened his spotless white tunic with   
a look of great disdain upon his thin, pointed face. A resigned sigh   
escaped his lips, and he flopped down on his immaculate cot to await the   
inspection. 

~@~ 

Abbot Arven rapped the table with the hilt of his sword, and all fell   
silent again. "Friends, it is time we resigned to our beds. For those   
who have nowhere to go, feel free to sleep in Cavern Hole or Great Hall,   
and I bid you good night."   



	2. For lack of a better title, Chapter 2

Disclaimer:

A/N: This chapter's fairly short, but I couldn't really squeeze anything else in there.

A Warrior No More, Chapter 2~

Baron Itharos of the Iron Helm stepped out of his tent and addressed the masses of soldiers awaiting his command.

"Pack up your tents! I want to leave this town by noon, no exceptions! Spokesbeasts Brownlug, Graysnout, Stumptail, your tent-groups will stay here and stand guard! I don't want any woodlanders to pass what is left of the gates!" Itharos barked, then glared at no one in particular and returned to his tent as his mighty army of war-hardened fighters scrambled like a pack of hunting dogs to do his bidding.

"I don't see why's we 'afta stay here an' stand guard over a half-burnt liddle village when everyone else's havin' fun an' stuff," one of Brownlug's tent-group muttered under his breath.

"Yer stayin' here 'cause da Baron said so, yeh lazy lump," snapped a passing officer, neatly tripping the speaker with a slight jerk of his spear-shaft. "An' don't yeh ferget it, see?"

"Yessir, sir!" barked the unfortunate stoat form where he lay sprawled upon the ground.

"Good, yew good-fer-nuthin' piece o' junk," spat the officer, and moved on.

~@~

Itharos's army marched southward, wreaking havoc on any settlement that stood in their way.

In one such village, a farmer returning to the safety of the town after a hard day's work in the fields noticed a great cloud of dust in the distance, and gave the town elders enough warning to send a small party to Redwall, asking for help. And then Itharos came.

The Baron of the Iron Helm stood on the balcony of the mayor's mansion, surveying his newly aquired domain. "Not bad for a day's work, eh?"

He turned to the officer behind him who had spoken, a fox whose name he couldn't remember at the moment.

"Yes, a decent -sized town to stay the night. And this mansion, as a bonus. Someday, when I grow too old to travel, I may retire here and leave you in command."

"Really, sir? Me?"

"Yes, you. Now, will you join me in the banquet hall for supper?"

"Yessir, sir! Very good, sir!"

As the ecstatic officer half-ran through the doors, Itharos laughed under his breath. "A buffoon like him running the army? Ha!"

~@~

Before he turned in for the night, Abbot Arven glanced out the window of his room. Tents and makeshift shelters were clustered across the Abbey lawns, and the guest dormitories were packed full of woodlanders who sought shelter within the walls of Redwall until the danger had passed.

But would it? Arven mused to himself. Of course it would. Redwall had not yet fallen to even the mightiest of conquerors, and this Itharos seemed like the typical attacker. If he had kept a warlord like Warfang from even seeing the abbey, it would be perfectly easy to keep the Baron out. Everything would be all right in the end. It had to be.

~@~

The five creatures who had escaped their town before Itharos arrived were exhausted. They had been running since dawn, and could not go on any longer. But they had to reach Redwall. They had to get help. Before it was too late.

Finally, they decided to stop. They would continue in the morning.

As the fatigued companions fell asleep in a thicket one by one, a cloaked creature stepped out of the thick brush. It carried a tall spear, and though in truth it did not mean any harm to the sleeping travelers, it certainly wasn't going to help them. In fact, this strange being would stop at nothing to keep them from Redwall.


	3. That chapter that took me forever to wri...

A/N: The long-awaited third chapter! Read! Enjoy! Be confused! But not as confused as you will be!

A Warrior No More, Chapter Three-

Gubbio the mole rose from his bed, stretching his arms and yawning ferociously. He stumbled sleepily to his window and looked out across the Abbey grounds.

It looked to be a nice winter day, more mild than those occuring over the past week. Most of the woodland refugees who had packed the Abbey when the sudden blizzard descended on the land had returned to their homes, and most Redwallers seemed to have forgotten about the possible attack by vermin. But not Gubbio.

The old mouse he had helped that fateful evening stuck in his mind like a dirt clod between his digging claws. There was something in his face, his tone of voice

~@~

The eyes of Amira Tallbrush snapped open. _Where was she? Where was everyone else?_

Amira, a squirrelmaid of about thirteen winters, was one of the eight surviving villagers of the town attacked by Itharos. Her father had been a wealthy merchant, and the family owned a beautiful mansion in the center of the town of Mossbank. Amira had lived a comfortable life in the sunny riverside village.

But now she was a nomad, a refugee of the ill-fated utopia. And she was hopelessly lost.

She struggled to her feet, attempting to take stock of her surroundings, with little luck. _Trees, trees, more trees, and a big rock._ None of her companions were in sight.

~@~

The seven missing survivors were, in fact, just on the other side of "the big rock." But, of course, they did not realize this. All they knew was that the young, slightly spoiled squirrelmaid was missing, and that they appeared to be tied up.

The cloaked figure with the spear stepped forward out of a tiny hut concealed in the brush, and lowered its hood. It was an otter.

"Who'm you, marm?" a mole ventured, fiddling with the hem of his tunic as he did so.

"I am Vanda," replied the grizzled otterlady, "And you are my captives."

~@~

Itharos' army marched closer, ever closer, to Redwall.

Redwallers marched closer, ever closer, to their beds.

The seven captives struggled in vain against their bonds, as Vanda marched closer, ever closer, to her hut, leaving her hostages alone in the vast expanse of Mossflower Woods.


End file.
